


Inktoberfest

by Inzannatea (Zanna23)



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, F/M, Humor, Inktober 2018, Other, Romance, Sketches, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-24 20:11:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16182335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanna23/pseuds/Inzannatea
Summary: A bunch of sketches and some drabbles.





	1. Poisonous

"Is it poisonous?" the voice behind her was shaking in terror. 

"No," Mac responded with a small quirk of her lips. 

Her companion let out a huge sigh of relief.

"It is, however, highly venomous," Mac turned as she heard a loud _THWOMP_. 

"Phryne? Phryne? Damn. Nurse! Fetch the smelling salts."


	2. Tranquil

No more sorrow. 

No more pain. 

No more sounds.

No more.

No more.

No more. 

All is tranquil. All is calm.


	3. Roasted

"You've got a little something right there."

"Here?" 

"No... I'll get it."

"I didn't really have anything there, did I?"

"Just an adorable nose."


	4. Spell

"Clearly, you must have read something wrong."

"Phryne, unless you have something constructive to add, please just let me think," Mac growled, "This doesn't make any sense!" 

"Maybe if you tried it backwards it would reverse the... effects," Phryne was fidgeting whilst she spoke, trying to stop herself from licking her hands to smooth her hair. She wasn't going to give into the impulses.

"What about you, Inspector? Any bright ideas?" Mac sneered.

"Woof."

 


	5. Chicken

"Just relax, Mr. Johnson," the Great Hypno said in smooth tones, "When I snap my fingers, you will squat down and lay your egg. Don't you want to meet your little one?"

"Buh-cock," was the only response Bert could manage.

"Good. Good. One. Two. Three..." _**SNAP**_

 _ **"**_ BUH-CAAAOOOCKK"

 


	6. Drooling

"BERT! BERT!" Phryne cried as she ran through the open door, "Bert! What... what happened."

Bert blinked slowly testing out his muscles. His arms and legs felt as if they were strapped to weights. "Miss... Fisher? What?"

She ran out of the room, leaving Bert to use every bit of his strength to push himself to sitting. He held his head in his hands, "Did anyone get the number of that truck?" he asked no one in particular. 

After slowly getting the blood moving again, Bert crawled to standing and stumbled into the kitchen.  Mr. B had managed to stand as well and was tending to Dottie. Miss Fisher had evidently left through the back door which was still wide open. 

Bert looked down to his left and saw Cec slumped against the wall with a broken teacup by his hand. Cec's eyes were open and unfocused. He was drooling from the right corner of his mouth. 

"Cec!" Bert surged with adrenaline as he crouched in front of his friend. "Cec!" Bert slapped him to try to make him rouse. "CEC!"

"stop hitting me..." a weak voice begged him. 

Bert pulled Cec into a rough hug, "Oi, Mate don't scare me like that!"

Bert released him and Cec started trying to stretch the induced sleep out of his muscles.  

Suddenly overcome with embarrassment, Bert stood, "Yeah, well... you never could hold your liquor."

Cec smiled up at him, "Come off it, mate. You were worried about me."

"Were not. Just didn't like to see you drooling."


	7. Exhausted

"Mr. Butler," Phryne professed as her head fell back and she accepted another dose of the amber medicine, "You are an angel incarnate."

He smiled at her and left her alone to her thoughts and memories. 

This. This was the reason she hadn't taken anything seriously since 1918. The blood and fear and pain and... this. This utter exhaustion. 

 

 


	8. Star

"Oh Jack," she gasped in wonder, "look!" 

His eyes followed the trail directed by her pointed finger. A shooting star. 

But Jack had everything he never knew he wished for standing in front of him. She was his guiding star. He would follow her anywhere in the universe and always be home. 

 


	9. Precious

"Won't you be late?" She asked.

With a gentle kiss to her spine, he recited Sonnet 57

"Being your slave, what should I do but tend

upon the hours and times of your desire?

I have no precious time at all to spend, nor services to do, till you require,

Nor dare I child the world-without-end hour

Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you.

Nor think the bitterness of absence sour

When you have bid your servant once adieu; 

Nor dare I question with my jealous thought

Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, 

But like a sad slave, stay and think of naught, 

Save, where you are how happy you make those.

So true fool is love that in your will

Though you do anything, he thinks no ill."


	10. Flowing

"Are you ready?" Jack asked him. 

"I've never been more certain or ready for anything in my life. Dottie makes me want to be a better man. I don't get it right all of the time, but... she makes me try. I'm afraid I'll say the wrong thing or mess up the vows... but I'm ready for married life. I'm ready to spend my life with her."

"That's wonderful, Collins, but are you ready to go to the church?"

Hugh blinked at his boss trying to process what he was asking.

"Uh... yes. Um... Yes, sir." 

A short time later... Hugh lost track of how short, how they got there, what the Inspector was saying, and then what Father O'Leary was saying... he found himself at the altar silently practicing his vows. 

"Oh, would you look at that," Father O'Leary whispered a gasp, "She looks like an angel."

Hugh turned to see.   
  
Everything stopped. 

The sounds vanished. The church and all the people in it blurred into nothing. Her face was glowing, her veil was flowing. She was his universe. 


	11. Cruel

"Jack? I need you to understand something about my father."

"Go ahead."

 "This charming cad, this leopard trying to change his spots..." She closed her eyes. Jack set down his drink and took her hand. If he had stopped to think he wouldn't have, but  the wetness of her eyes said she needed support. "He's a monster. Or he was. Cruel." 

"You once mentioned the cupboard," Jack's voice was soft and pained. 

Phryne shut her eyes against tears and shook her head, "It was..."

He stroked her fingers with his thumb, "I'm sorry I mocked it."

She pinched her lips together, and nodded in forgiveness, "It was better me than her."

She couldn't stop the tears now. Jack lightly pulled her into his embrace. 

"He can't do that to you ever again," Jack promised, "I won't let him."

She shook her head into his chest, "No. I won't."


	12. Whale

They'd been rocking slowly in the hammock for maybe an hour... or was it weeks? It didn't matter. They were almost home now. She'd set the plane down on the beach near the gnarled old roots of some forgotten giant. He'd set the camp and hung the hammock while she tended to the plane. 

Australia. Finally. Still 3000 miles to go, but Australia. 

They sat quietly. Comfortably. They'd already talked about this for weeks.

So they just sat. Thinking of the changes that lie ahead. Listening to sound of the waves. Watching the sun drift lower and lower to be extinguished in the Indian Ocean. Enjoying the warm familiarity of each other. 

"Oh Jack, look!" her whisper cut through the lulling sounds of wind and wave.

He did, in just enough time to see the fluke disappear into the water. 

She turned to him with a smile on her face, "That's good luck, you know!"

He kissed her softly, "It seems to be."


	13. Guarded

"How did he find me?" Jane whispered desperately.

"Shhh... Miss Phryne will protect us," Dot put her arm around Jane, "but we must stay hidden."

Phryne inched away from the cellar door... moving slowly and deliberately... listening for any sign of the intruder. She'd always been one to run toward danger, usually without a second thought.

This was different.

It wasn't just her own life on the line.

She guarded a most precious treasure. The lives of those she loved.

She wouldn't fail them the way she failed Janey.  


	14. Clock

"Be brave, Dorothy Anne Williams," she said aloud.

It was almost midnight. 

She had promised Miss Fi-- Miss Phryne-- that she would telephone the police if she hadn't made it back by midnight.

She looked again at the door, willing Miss Phryne to come through it. 

Still nothing. 

She looked at the page she had read at least twenty times so far. She thought about marking her spot. No need. 

She heard a sound outside the door and her head whipped around, "Oh, thank goodness," she whispered under her breath. 

But the sound kept moving. It wasn't her. She wasn't home. 

Dot stood and looked at the clock. 

It was time. 

She'd have to be brave, she'd... she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the mantle. 

Phryne had anointed her. 

A bright red lip-print upon her brow, imbuing her with the power to do what needed to be done. 

Dot touched the mark and steeled her resolve. She turned and picked up the handset. 

"City South Police."

 


	15. Weak

“I am who I am, Jack. I can’t give that up.”  _ She's defiant. Proud. She really doesn't understand, does she?  _

“I’m not asking you to give that up. I would never ask you to do that.”  _ It would break my heart just as much as it's breaking now to cage you. Don't you know that? _

“So you’re… giving up me, instead?”  _ She sounds pained. She'll get past it. She's strong. Resilient. I am too weak. It hurts too much. _

“What we do best. Us. Together. You’d sacrifice that? If you did that Jack I would feel… I would feel like it was you lying in that wreckage.” _Maybe she does understand. Maybe… maybe._ _She’s choking back tears. No. No, I need to be strong._

“Please can you think about that?”  _ She’s heartbroken. I broke her heart. She's shattered mine.  _

“I will.“  _ I lie. I can't _ .


	16. Angular

The war had made him sharp—edgy—angular.

Ever black and white, not willing to bend. 

It had driven his wife away. 

“I don’t know how I fit,” she’d say. “Your remarks are too cutting. Your glare too hard.” 

And so she’d gone. 

And he got sharper—edgier—more angular.

He was so well crafted, he thought nothing could get through.

And then she wafted into his life with feathers and furs.

Soft curves to smooth his sharp edges.

She seeped into the tightest corners, softening his angles, suffusing him with warmth and wonder.

Shading and contouring his blacks and whites.

Adding new dimensions to his rigid life.


	17. Swollen

Her feet and hands were swollen— not as swollen as her belly, but enough to ache. The swollen belly made her back hurt. Her face felt puffy and she was sure she looked a wreck.

She was hot and cranky and ready to turn on him. This was, after all, his fault.  

Of course, she’d wanted this too. Of course, she did. It was her dream and her duty. The world must be peopled, she’d always been taught. 

Now that there was no backing out, she was afraid. Ready to lash out.

Her best friend and mentor had warned her not to rush into things. That there was a whole world out there. 

She turned to her husband. Finding some nit to pick would make her feel better. At least for minute. She knew she’d feel worse eventually, but this was his fault. 

She didn’t know how they were going to manage.

She glanced at him and her breath caught. 

He was looking at her with awe and wonder and absolute love. 

His chest was swollen with pride at having this woman next to him. 

Her anger and fear melted and a soft smile graced her lips. 

Maybe they’d manage just fine.


	18. Bottle

He reached again for the bottle.

“Damn. She was right,” he muttered to himself as he drained the glass. Again.

Normally, he loved it when she was right.

Normally, he thrilled at her brilliance and liveliness.

Normally… normally he thought she was invincible.

Normally, she didn’t break his heart.

Normally, he didn’t believe she would leave him… not forever.

Normally, he couldn't imagine a world without Phryne Fisher.

He reached again for the bottle.


	19. Scorched

“Sasha. Sasha, don’t fall asleep,” she commanded as she started working on the door. “If my eyes could focus in this fog.” 

She slumped back in frustration. It was impossibly hot in the room. Her skin felt as if it were on fire, tightening underneath the sheen of sweat. She looked around trying to find the heat source and realized the steam was coming through vents under the benches. 

“If the steam’s piped in…” a spark of brilliance lit her path, “we just need to pipe it out again.”

She crawled to the vent, wincing at the burn as she pulled the grate off the bench. She spotted a valve in the vent shaft.  _ Eureka! _

She reached her bare hand in to turn the valve. It scorched her fingertips, causing her to pull back her hand in pain. 

_ I need something to protect my hands. _ She scanned the room, noting the loose towel covering Sasha’s backside. He was mostly passed out.  _ He’ll never miss it.  _ She snatched the towel and covered her hands as she turned off the steam. 

“Sasha. Sasha, don’t fall asleep” she smacked the dancer’s bare bottom. He groaned but didn’t otherwise respond. The temperature was starting to drop a little. The steam was still thick, but it wasn’t as painful. 

She started back on the lock with the hairpin.  _ I just need to get the last pin… _

She almost had it. She looked up in surprise as the door jerked open in front of her. The steam parted as a rush of cooler air filled the sauna. 

Staring down at her was the chiseled face of a rather reasonable police man.

“Glad you could make it inspector. I’m a little more steamed up than I wanted to be.”

“I always wondered what went on in a Turkish bathhouse."

 


	20. Breakable

Prudence Stanley was made of stern stuff. 

She always thought of herself as unbreakable.

No matter what life threw at her… she didn't break.

When she fell off Papa’s horse, she didn’t break.

When Margaret left home--left her alone-- to be with that… that… MAN, she didn’t break.

When her beautiful baby daughter was born breathless, she didn’t break. 

When it was clear that Arthur was special and different, she didn’t break. 

When typhoid took her precious little Eddie, she didn’t break.

When Edward shut himself away from her and tried to drown his grief, she didn't break. 

When her sweet niece Janey went missing, she didn’t break. 

When her own dear Edward succumbed and went to be with their oldest children, she didn’t break.

When her baby boy Guy left home-- left her alone-- and stole away to England without a word, she didn't break.

Now. Now her Arthur... her special, different, darling little boy… the one she thought would never leave… the one who needed her most… was gone.

 

She mustn’t break.


	21. Drain

She drained the goblet. She was hoping to avoid that, but given the option was a bullet to the brainpan, she decided to take her chances. 

The liquid oozed down her throat, sapping her energy, soothing her inflamed nerves. She could feel the fight drain from her. 

She couldn’t give up. 

“I meant what I said. Rhodes isn’t one of your faithful. He won’t follow you to the afterlife or anywhere else!”

“QUIET!”

“He’s waiting you out for the sake of the treasure. He’ll claim the discovery of King Memses’ tomb for his own glory.”

Calmly, Foyle said, “Give me the gun.”

“None of it’s true,” Rhodes protested.

“I know because the plan was always for you to proceed me to the afterlife for your own loyalty. Give. Me. The. Gun,” Foyle was more demanding now.

“No.” 

She watched the partnership in front of her fall apart as they wrestled each other for the gun. 

This was her moment if she could just fight the potion for a few minutes, she could get the other hand and…

_ BANG! _

A shot rang out. Rhodes was hit in the arm and Phryne used all of her remaining strength to lunge at Foyle. She had to get that gun.

 

_ BANG! _

 


	22. Expensive

“Miss Fisher,” he greeted her  as he stepped out of City South into to the crisp spring air. 

“Hullo, Jack!” she was lounging on a magnificent piece of machinery. He knew he’d never see anything as beautiful as Phryne, but this was running a close second. 

“What is this?” he waved to the motorcycle she had draped herself over. 

“This? It’s a present. For you, Jack,” she smiled widely. 

“Phryne,” he walked towards her, “We talked about this. It’s too expensive. You can’t be buying me things like this.”

She pouted as he moved closer. 

“It’s not so expensive,” she protested, “it’s just a motorcycle.” 

“It’s a Brough Superior, it’s not just any motorcycle. But it’s too much… You should keep it for yourself.” 

“Oh, Jack, I can’t”

“Why not?” Jack was puzzled.

“I got one for myself, too!” Phryne beamed a smile, “we'll both need them for the rally.”

“The rally?”

An impish grin was all the response he got.

To be continued...


	23. Muddy

Continued from yesterday… 

 

“Muddy”

 

The “Rally” turned out to be the Sydney to Melbourne Gypsy Tour Rally… backtracking the great Melbourne to Sydney Rally of ‘27. 

Of course, murder had been involved. 

Murder, Mayhem, and Motorcycles.

He was feeling quite smug at staying ahead of her for most of the rally race. Smug until she came careening around the muddy track, nearly forcing him off the road, and taking the lead.

 

No matter. He’d still go home with the prize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit messy in prose and pen, but it's my birthday so you'll have to forgive me.


	24. Chop

Mildred eyed the hairless man warily as he polished his blade. The other two, the soft heart and the smoke stack, had gone. Soft heart had been protective of her ever since Scraggle Face had handed her over to him. But now she was alone… just her, Hairless, and his knife.

Hairless pulled an onion out of the bin and began to chop.

“Mr. Butler!” the yellow hen who smelled of roses came back into the room, “Miss Fisher rang and said she wouldn't be back tonight and not to hold dinner.”

Hairless looked up at Yellow Roses, “Very good, Dorothy. Will you be inviting Constable Collins to dine?”

Yellow Roses pinked, replying, “Oh, no, Hugh is taking me to the pictures.”

Hairless smiled at Yellow Roses,  “Have a wonderful time.”

Yellow Roses disappeared and Mildred began to tremble.

“Well, Mildred,” Hairless addressed her informally, “since it's just the two of us… frittata?”


	25. Prickly

They’d been in England for a few weeks now. Everything was going really well. Jack fell more in love every day he was here. What was astonishing to him, was that she seemed to feel the same.

The cold drizzling rain was ending and the day started to look like the best they’d had since leaving the antipodes. Jack decided to surprise her with a picnic. He’d prepared a light meal and found a suitable picnic blanket, he just needed to find some way to transport it all. 

Mrs. Bailey said she thought she remembered there was a picnic basket in the garden shed, but he might need to clean it up a bit first. 

He found it, all dusty and covered with cobwebs, but when he picked it up, it felt heavier than he expected. 

He opened the lid and saw a little ball of spikes. It took him a moment to register that the ball of spikes was breathing. Somewhere in the depths of his memory he thought he remembered that hedgehogs hibernate. 

He shut the lid and looked around the shed for an alternative basket. He found nothing, but he did find some things that would make a lovely nest for a hedgehog. 

He spent a few minutes putting together an alternative home. Some cotton batting to keep the creature warm. A dish of clean water. When he was done, he very carefully reached into the picnic basket and lifted the prickly creature, trying not to disturb it. The quills stiffened for a moment, but with the care he took, they soon softened. He settled the hedgehog in its new home and set off for his day.


	26. Stretch

She was awoken by the subtle reflection of the sunbeam and its accompanying warmth. Her limbs were heavy and stiff from sleep. As comfortable as she was, she knew the exquisite pleasure she’d find after a good stretch was worth the effort. 

She stretched her toes and flexed her feet. She pushed through her heels into an imaginary floor and felt her calves and thighs firm. She rolled her bottom against the sheets, arching and bowing her back. She reached her arms out to either side, fully unfurling her wings. Her left hand met warm skin and a smattering of hair. A firm trunk on a tightly-built man. She turned her head to see he was still asleep. His fingers were reaching for her hair, unconsciously longing to bury his hands there. 

His face was relaxed. His arm slung behind him. The dour man with the furrows in his brow smoothed of care. Shadows of stubble cast a gauze over his features. He looked younger and yet somehow wiser. More knowing.

She absently played with the sparse hair on his chest, tracing his contours with a light touch. 

A subtle smile pulled the corners of his mouth, as he began to twirl her hair around his fingers. Tentative touches. Careful caresses. 

He opened his eyes. They were full of wonder and love. She had to remember how to breathe. 

“Hello, Jack.” 


	27. Thunder

The shot was a crack of thunder rumbling and echoing through the ballroom.

Someone screamed. She couldn’t be sure it wasn’t herself.

Her target slumped to the floor, staring in befuddlement at the red oozing between his fingers as he clutched his chest.

Shocked silence spread throughout the room.

The gravity of her actions pushed her to the floor. He was a monster. She had no choice. But life, however monstrous, was still life and she had taken it.


	28. Gift

Ever since he decided to pursue her, he’d been thinking of how to give her a symbol of his love.

This new order from the commissioner gave the perfect opportunity. He’d been holding onto the “special constable” paperwork for some time, anticipating this very challenge.

But he wanted to add something special. A lasting token of what this meant to both of them.

His policeman’s salary wasn’t sufficient enough to buy her all the emeralds and sapphires and rubies and diamonds she deserved. Things assigned value by rarity or beauty or both.

Gold and silver had a similar problem.

Flowers were lovely but didn’t last.

He thought of writing her a sonnet, but tensed at the thought of her reading his words. That was too raw. Too open.

He needed a gift that was personal, but not too open. Meaningful, but not chaining. Bold, but not reckless.

He opened the cigar box which hadn’t held cigars since his grandfather died. The box that still vaguely smelled of dry tobacco and memories.

Under various medals for bravery or sacrifice or heroism he found the thing he’d been looking for. A connection to his past, a symbol of what he wanted for their future.

“Perfect.”


	29. Double

“You’re being ridiculous. He looks nothing like me!”

“Jack! He could be your double! Of course, he’s a bit older, but you look so much alike!”

“I don’t see it. Besides, he’s a criminal. A nasty one at that… I just don’t have sufficient evidence to arrest him.”

Phryne smiled wickedly, “Well… that’s a tantalizing image. Jack Robinson handcuffing a Jack Robinson look alike.

“Miss Fisher… “ he growled in warning, “Drop it.”

“What say you, Hugh? Do you agree that Stokes is the spitting image or our dear Inspector,” Phryne asked gleefully.

Hugh’s eyes darted in terror between Miss Fisher and the man responsible for his employment, “Uh… well… I…”

Phryne let out a full throated laugh.

Jack glared at him menacingly.

“No comment,” he finally squeaked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Also Happy, happy birthday to @suzieq27)


	30. Jolt

“I’m going to hang for this,” Hetty screamed. She didn’t want to go alone. She roughly pulled Dot toward the deadly machinery. 

All Phryne could think was, _“I need to stop this machine.”_  She picked up the axe. 

Jack lunged forward, “Phryne, NO!” he shouted. 

Phryne swung the axe at the power cable. A jolt of stabbing pain ran up her arm and down her body knocking her back and off her feet. 

Hetty screamed in frustration as the machine slowed and Jack wrestled her to the ground. 

Hugh clutched Dottie to his chest, wrapping his fingers around her head, trying desperately to fight back his terror of losing her. 

“Phryne?” Jack couldn’t let go of the murderess, but his attention was on his partner on the ground. 

A weak and breathy, “I’m all right, Jack.” Allowed him to let out the breath he’d been holding since she picked up the axe. 

Phryne’s ears were ringing. She smelled burnt hair in her nostrils. 

She said a silent thank you to the manufacturer of her designer shoes who had started putting rubber on the soles for traction.

 


	31. Slice

Hugh Collins had a rough night. Mother had finally put her foot down about that… that… that… CATHOLIC GIRL… and he was having to find alternate lodging. The cells were about half as comfortable as they looked, but at least it was out of the cold night air. 

Now Dottie was making it more difficult by challenging him on the plan… well, the NEW plan.

“Have as much as you'd like,” Dottie said to the young scamp Miss Fisher brought home with her. 

Dottie went into the kitchen leaving Hugh alone with this usurper.

“Well, you’ve fallen on your feet haven’t you? When was the last time you ate?” Hugh asked the boy.

“This morning,” the lad offered.

He figured. Those in need didn't stay that way in the Fisher household, “Well… you’re going a lot better than me.”

He pulled the spongy cake his fiancee had offered the boy in front of him, picked up a handy knife, and began to slice.

“Yeahhhh…  Ooo... ooo… ooo… “

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last day of Inktober. Thanks for the support and Happy Halloween!


End file.
